Survival of the Fittest
by akat24
Summary: As it turned out, not all of Ken's 'lost' souls went to his hell dimension. You might even say that some made a 'Pit' stop. AU Anne ep. Pre-SVM series. Drabble-ish.
1. Natural Selection

Summary: As it turned out, not all of Ken's 'lost' souls went to his hell dimension. You might even say that some made a 'Pit' stop. AU Anne ep. Pre-SVM series. Drabble-ish.  
Disclaimer: BtVS and SVM do not belong to me. Shocking, I know.  
Warning: If you haven't read the Southern Vampire Mysteries series, specifically Dead as a Doornail and All Together Dead, you won't recognize the SVM characters, as they aren't in True Blood. Also this takes place about 15 years before the Great Revelation and during the Anne ep of BtVS. I'm hoping you'll still be able to follow along, though, maybe even enjoy it. ;)

* * *

**Chapter 1: Natural Selection**

Buffy didn't care. She _didn't_. That life was behind her now, and with it, all the pain and suffering and all around _suckage_. She was in LA now, where she kept her head down and her slaying nonexistent.

So what if all her instincts told her that Lily was in way over her head? Getting involved would make her face things she wasn't ready to face. Not only that, it would mean she cared. Which she didn't.

Of course, that left no rational explanation, then, for why she was currently bursting through the doors of Family Home. Or why her heart actually dropped when she spotted Lily and Ken, surrounded by candles, standing over a pool of goo that had 'evil' written all over it.

Clearly, logic was not her friend.

"Anne," Lily frowned, getting to her feet. "I—"

She was cut short as Ken wrapped his arm around her, gripping her around the throat.

"This is none of your concern," he warned.

Buffy snorted. "Oh, Ken, I wish that were true. In fact, I was doing a pretty good job of living concern-free these days. But this?" she said, gesturing toward the black pit and then to Lily. "This is nothing _but_ my concern."

Snarling, Ken turned and tried to push Lily into the black goo.

"No!" Buffy shouted, launching herself toward them with all the speed she could muster.

Even as she did, though, she knew she wasn't going to make it. Thankfully, Lily resisted, clinging to Ken, which gave Buffy just enough time to reach them.

All three of them hit the concrete floor with a thud.

Ignoring Lily's groan of pain, Buffy immediately jumped to her feet, and not a second too soon, either, because Mr. Nice Guy Ken was swiping at her with the knife — standing, of course, between her and Lily and the door.

Ducking under his hand, Buffy scooped up one of the many heavy candlesticks lining the goo pit and swung.

Her first blow knocked the knife from Ken's hand, where it clattered to the ground. The second connected solidly with Ken's face.

To her surprise — and utter disgust — his face fell off, revealing a demonic one underneath.

"And weirdly enough, this is actually an improvement," she smirked.

Apparently Ken wasn't good with the criticism, because his face twisted in fury as he charged. Instead of going for her again, though, he lunged for Lily, who hadn't moved an inch since she fell — right next to the black goo.

"Lily, run!" Buffy shouted, even as she dove for Ken, managing to grab him around the ankle so that they both to fell to the ground.

But Lily didn't move. She just sat there like a deer caught in the demonic headlights, and for a second Buffy feared she'd have to fireman carry the girl out herself. To her relief, however, the blonde snapped out of it and ran toward the door.

With one obstacle out of the way, Buffy jumped to her feet and faced Ken with renewed energy.

"Normally I'd make a quip right about now, but I'm a little out of practice," she remarked, adjusting her grip on the candlestick. "So I'll just skip right to beating your ugly ass."

Then she attacked, swinging her makeshift weapon like a cudgel.

Ken was ready for her this time, though. Catching her makeshift club with both hands, he wrenched it from her hands while delivering a powerful kick to her midsection.

Buffy fell backward, curling into a backward somersault. As she rolled, she felt something hard dig into her shoulder.

The knife.

Fingers curling around the handle, she grabbed blade. With no time to get to her feet, she stayed crouched on the ground, jabbing the knife forward just as Ken lunged for her, candlestick raised high above his head.

Ken's eyes went wide with shock, right before he deflated like a balloon. Still, Buffy gave the blade a good twist, just for good measure.

With a gasp, he fell to the ground. It was a strange sound, though, almost like he was muttering something under his breath, like a spell.

Suddenly, Buffy felt the ground beneath her feet start to shift. At the same time, the black gooeyness behind her went crazy, twisting and writhing like the Blob incarnate. Before she could get out of the way, one of its gooey tentacles wrapped around her ankle, pulling her until she fell.

...only to hit another cement floor.

Buffy groaned as her back made contact.

"Doesn't anyone believe in carpeting anymore? And what the heck just happened?" she muttered under her breath.

"That's what I'd like to know."

At the sound of another voice, Buffy vaulted to her feet, in battle ready position.

Too bad she was by herself in a cell, complete with a hard cot, an oh-so-public and _plastic_ looking toilet, and a thick steel door.

She immediately dashed for the door and, after unsuccessfully trying to open the door, looked out the small window, trying to find the owner of the mysterious voice. From the sound of it, he was close by; maybe only a dozen feet away.

Sure enough, she saw a pair of the purplest eyes she had ever seen looking at her from across the hallway.

"Yeah, well as soon as I figure it out, I'll let you know," she shot back. "Where am I?"

There was a pause. "The Pits," her mystery neighbor finally said, sounding more than a little reluctant.

Buffy bit back a groan. Didn't that sound promising?

"I don't suppose you make license plates here," she asked hopefully.

There was another long pause before he spoke again. "We fight. This is a gladiator pit."

Buffy closed her eyes and leaned against the wall.

That would teach her to get involved, wouldn't it?


	2. State of Nature

**Chapter 2: State of Nature**

"Quinn! Who the hell are you–"

Buffy gave a start as a pale face suddenly appeared in the window to her cell. As soon as he caught sight of her, he snarled – right as he flashed a nice set of pearly white fangs at her.

A vampire. Of course vampires ran the place. Her only comfort was that he looked even more surprised than she was.

Then it hit her. His face didn't vamp out.

Before she could really think about what that meant, she heard the sound of the lock being undone, immediately making his lack of ridges a non-issue. Because honestly? She didn't care if he sprouted a pair of wings and danced the polka. He was still a vampire, one that stood between her and the way out.

As the door began to swing open, Buffy rammed against it with all her might. She gave a small smile of satisfaction as she felt the heavy steel crash into the vampire, knocking him off his feet.

Before he hit the ground, she was out the door. Unfortunately, that was as far as she got.

He was a little faster, a little stronger than she expected. That, and he had a friend standing on the other side of the door. This vamp was more than ready for her, lashing out at her as soon as she cleared the doorframe.

Luckily, Buffy caught the movement out of the corner of her eye, and she dodged his fist as it flew toward her face, countering with her own left hook that sent this vamp sprawling.

Sadly, all this meant was that she never saw the taser blast coming.

She sure felt it, though. In fact, she could almost _taste_ the bolt of pain as it coursed through her body again and again, making all of her muscles seize and spasm until she hit the floor for a third time that day.

It didn't stop there, either. Nope, even though Buffy was so far beyond incapacitated it wasn't funny, the pain kept on coming as Vamp Number 1 kept his finger on trigger well past any legally allowed time limit.

Even when the current finally, mercifully, stopped, her body still shook with after-tremors, and it took a good thirty seconds before she realized that the vamps had begun dragging her down the hall by her arms.

The worst part was there wasn't a single thing she could do about it, her body as limp as a rag doll's.

Still, determined not to just give up, Buffy looked around, trying to find something, _anything_, that could help. But there was nothing – nothing except Purple Eyes, staring at _her_ with an intensity that would have made Batman blush.

Almost automatically, Buffy scrutinized him right back – and boy, was there a lot of him to scrutinize.

Seriously, the guy was insanely tall – as in, he was approaching Green Giant proportions – and he had the muscles to match. He was also completely bald, which wouldn't have been noteworthy in it of itself, except that he was obviously very young. In fact, he probably wasn't much older than her, if at all.

Then the vamps pulled her through a doorway into a new, much narrower corridor, and he was gone from sight.

Buffy immediately tried to orient herself to these new surroundings, taking in every detail she could, but it was no use. One non-descript hallway led into another, creating a dizzying maze of concrete that made her head spin.

The doors were even worse. Not only did they all look exactly like the one before, but they were all guarded, either by a key pass and some sci-fi eye scan thingy or by some sort of supernatural creature, vampy or otherwise. And wouldn't you know? There wasn't a single 'Exit' sign to be seen.

And still, they kept on marching through door after door, hallway after hallway, going further into the labyrinth of corridors until they finally came to a set of doors that were noticeably different from the others.

They were gold in color and enormous, running from the floor straight up to the ceiling, with intricate designs covering the entire surface. When the guards opened them, they did so with a flourish; whether it was for dramatic effect, Buffy didn't know. The impact was still the same.

Buffy inhaled sharply as she looked at what could only be described as a throne room, one that was lavish, richly decorated, with purple silk adorning the walls and gold glittering everywhere.

It was also brimming with vampires.

Fighting off a sense of panic, Buffy tried to flex her hands, willing her body to recover. It was useless, though. All she could do was watch as Vamp Number 1 released her arm and approached a woman sitting at the far end of the room.

She was tiny, with shiny black hair and white skin, looking every inch the Greek goddess. And her sharp green eyes never left Buffy's face, even as Vamp Number 1 addressed her.

"Thalia," he greeted.

Then he began talking in a voice so low, Buffy couldn't hear what he was saying – though she could take a pretty good guess what they were talking about.

After what seemed like forever, the whispering stopped, and Thalia stood, looking pleased as punch. She leisurely strolled over toward Buffy until she was less than foot away.

"Ken hasn't sent us anyone in years. Did he send us a Britlingen?" she mused in a very stilted, very broken English. As she spoke, she cupped Buffy's face in her hand, forcing her to look deep into her eyes. "How else could a kitten have such bite?"

"Call me a kitten one more time and you'll find out," Buffy retorted, jerking her head out of the vampire's hand.

For some reason, this surprised Thalia, and her eyes narrowed until they were tiny slits. Then, without another word, she turned on her heel and returned to her seat, totally ignoring Buffy and looking at the others instead.

"Where is Ken?" she demanded.

The room seemed to freeze then, as nobody could answer their mistress' question, and Buffy couldn't help but snort with laughter.

"Yeah, he's going to have a hard time getting back to you," she called out.

Though Thalia didn't move, Buffy could see the rage flashing in her eyes.

"You cost us, girl," she snarled. "In ways you can't comprehend."

"Yeah, I'm all broken up about it," Buffy said dryly.

Thalia quirked her eyebrow, the anger disappearing as quickly as it came. "Not yet, but you will be. And in the process, you'll earn me back some of the money you lost," she promised.

She looked like she was going to say something else to Buffy. Before she could, however, another vampire stepped forward, one dressed in a suit and tie, looking distinctly out of sync with the whole Greco-Roman theme Thalia had going.

"I will notify Victor of this new development," he stated, clearly neither asking for permission or approval.

Thalia turned on him, once again, her anger almost palpable.

"Yes, you do that," she hissed. Then she turned to some of the other vamps in the room and waved her hand dismissively. "As soon as she can stand, take her to the Pit."


	3. Instincts

**Chapter 3: Instincts**

A/N: So I really, _really_ wanted to make references to _Fight Club_ and _Gladiator_ in this chapter, but wouldn't you know? They came out after 1997, when this fic takes place in the Buffy-verse. *grumble, grumble*

* * *

All in all, 'The Pit' was a pretty misleading name.

Honestly, it sounded like something that involved cages. Either that, or something similar to those ridiculous movies Xander had made her watch once during his Jean Claude Van Damme marathon.

But this? This was less 'Lionheart' and more like the real deal, from the sandy, oval-shaped arena right down to the stadium seating. In fact, to her (admittedly history-oblivious) eye, the only major difference was that the actual Colosseum was outdoors while this place was completely enclosed. Hell, in some ways, it seemed even _more_ authentic than the original.

Here, the stench of blood, sweat, and dirt still permeated the air.

Almost involuntarily, Buffy took a deep breath, only to wince as the heavy air hit the back of her throat.

Yeah, it was like taking a step back in history, all right. Too bad she was on the wrong side of it – especially since it looked like the 'right side' was standing room only.

Buffy eyed the crowd warily. She had never seen so many vamps and other assorted creatures of the night in one place before. The arena was practically vibrating with supernatural mojo, and it was a little unnerving, to say the least.

Apparently, they hadn't seen anyone like her, either, because a noticeable hush had come over the crowd the second she was shoved into the ring. Now, as Thalia introduced her as a Brit-whatever, Buffy could hear a pin drop.

The whole place stayed eerily quiet like that for a full minute, until a noise at the other end of the arena broke the spell.

Her 'opponent' had entered the ring.

She was a vampire, tall and slender with red hair. As soon as she saw Buffy, she snarled, the sound of her fangs extending echoed through the Pit. Then, clearly deciding not to waste any time, she attacked, racing toward Buffy so quickly, she almost seemed to blur.

For the tiniest second, Buffy froze.

Up until that very moment, she had been plotting what she would do, going over a million and one options until her contingency plans had contingency plans – and none of them included actually fighting. As the vamp's hand clawed for her throat, however, all her plans got booted out the window as her instincts kicked in.

Before the vamp's arm could make contact, Buffy grabbed it and used the vamp's momentum against her, hurling her into a wall.

The crowd cheered, but Buffy barely heard it. Her entire focus was on the vampire, who, having already recovered, was currently rushing at her with that lightning fast speed that was getting to be very annoying.

This time the vampire managed to clip Buffy on the shoulder. It wasn't a huge hit, but it was enough to throw her off balance.

Seeing her advantage, the vampire lunged, again reaching for Buffy's throat.

Again, Buffy was able to counter this pretty easily, blocking the vampire with one arm while using the other to deliver a blow to the vamp's midsection.

They fought like that for several minutes, where Buffy blocked any move the vampire made before responding with her own. As hit after hit of hers landed, something occurred to Buffy.

This vampire wasn't a fighter, not really. She moved clumsily, leaving herself open with almost every move. It was only her strength and speed that made her a formidable opponent at all.

They were testing her, she realized, giving her an 'easy' opponent to see what she could do.

Well, they'd get no complaints from Buffy. All the vamps she had ever faced before this seemed to be sired with an innate sense of martial arts, which, aside from defying explanation, was so not what she needed right now – because although she hated to admit it, she had been out of the slaying game for awhile, and it showed; in her reflexes, in her speed, in her strength, everything. Plus, there was that whole taser business, which she hadn't totally recovered from. _And_ she was seriously lacking in a useful weapon.

Almost as if someone were reading her mind – which, considering the crowd, was entirely possible – a sword dropped into the arena just then, blade down in the sand less than thirty feet away.

Knocking the vampire flat on her ass with a well-placed kick, Buffy sprinted over to the sword and yanked it out of the ground. It was a well-made blade; heavy but sharp, with perfect balance. And it fit perfectly in her hand.

She saw the nervousness enter the vampire's eyes as she wielded the sword.

"You could always say 'uncl—" Buffy started to suggest.

Before she could finish her sentence, the vampire was practically on top of her again.

With a grunt, Buffy swung out and sliced the vampire on her arm. Following the momentum of her stroke, she then spun around and struck again, this time aiming for a leg. She found her mark, opening up a gash that cut deep into her opponent's thigh.

As the vampire fell to her knees, Buffy held the sword high – and paused.

It was a vampire. She was a Vampire Slayer. And yet... she couldn't. She couldn't kill just for someone else's kicks.

No, more than that; she _refused_ to.

Flipping the sword in her hand, Buffy grasped the blade and hit the vampire with the butt of the sword, hard enough to knock her out.

The vampire fell unceremoniously to the ground.

Breathing hard, Buffy looked up, immediately seeking out Thalia. As their eyes met, she glared, challenging the vampire to make the next move. Thalia merely looked amused, and, after a beat, nodded her approval.

As the crowd began applauding, the enormity of the situation, of what she had done, finally hit Buffy, and there was a sudden weakness in her knees that had _nothing_ to do with being tasered.

Feeling angrier than she could express, her hand tightened around her sword.

She had half a mind to hurl the blade straight at Thalia and go from there. After a long moment, however, she dropped it, and the blade fell harmlessly into the sand at her feet with a dull thud. Almost immediately, two guards entered the arena, presumably to escort her out, with their tasers at the ready.

They were unnecessary, though. Without any prodding, Buffy walked to the exit on her own volition.

Though it pained her to do so, anything else would be suicide, and if there was one thing she knew how to do, it was to survive.


	4. Adaptation

**Chapter 4: Adaptation**

_Hello, Square One,_ Buffy bitterly thought as the cell door slammed shut, locking her inside.

Actually, scratch that. Square One was across the hall, in the cell she had originally fallen into. Now, in her spiffy new corner cell, she was at Square _Zero_, as the situation just officially reached a whole new level of suckage.

It had started on the walk back from the arena.

Though she had still been reeling from her fight, she knew it was her best chance to escape. Like before, though, all the doors had some serious security going on, and the corridors were as winding as ever.

She had expected that, though. What she hadn't counted on were the guards.

As they led her through the corridors, she had studied them, searching for some opening, some weakness, for her to take advantage of.

But there was nothing.

They had stuck to her like glue, watching her every move, right down to the tiniest flinch, to the point where she was pretty sure a sneeze would've gotten her tasered again.

The real kicker, however, had come when they had dumped her in the cell – because it was done without a single taunt or threat or _anything_ resembling standard operating procedures for evil. She didn't even rate a backwards glance.

It was as if nobody cared who she was or where she came from; as if, in the grand scheme of things, Buffy really didn't matter.

Not only was this mildly bruising to her ego, but it also – and more importantly – begged the question: how powerful were these vamps, that a supernaturally strong human magically appearing was no big?

A million possibilities ran through Buffy's mind, none of them good. After a minute or two, she forced herself to lean against the wall and take a deep, calming breath.

It didn't matter. None of it did.

It didn't matter that all signs pointed to her being in another dimension; that, chances were, Ken probably hadn't conjured a portal just to move her across state lines. And it definitely didn't matter that, from what she had gleaned from her conversation with Thalia and from her own observations, the portal was controlled by Ken himself, he who now slept with the proverbial fishes.

She was going to find a way out of the Pits, and then she was going to find a way home. That's all there was to it.

She just needed to figure out how.

Buffy began wracking her brain, making a mental list of everything she knew, everything she had seen, trying to put it all together to formulate an escape plan. No matter what she came up with, though, she kept coming back to one simple fact.

She needed help.

Yep, as much as she hated to admit it, she couldn't do it on her own, not with the way this place was locked down. She needed help, and unfortunately for her, it wasn't going to come from Giles, Willow or Xander.

Seriously, they hadn't found her in L.A., and that had been the most obvious place to look. It seemed highly unlikely – verging on absurd – that they would find her here.

No her only option was to find someone here, another prisoner maybe – or five or six. But hey, if there was anyone else there like her, it wouldn't be too difficult, right?

Not that she wouldn't have to go about it carefully, though. And it wasn't something that would happen overnight, either – which meant she would have to play Thalia's game for awhile.

At the thought of entering that arena again, Buffy felt her stomach churn, and she squeezed her eyes shut as the sound of the crowd cheering filled her ears.

"Guess nobody taught them it's not polite to play with their food," she muttered darkly.

"We're not _food_."

Buffy's eyes flew open. She knew that voice. It was Purple Eyes – Quinn, the guard had called him – and boy, did he sound insulted.

Clearly, her plan to make with the allies was off to a swimming start.

Scrambling to her feet, Buffy quickly scanned her cell, trying to figure out where his voice was coming from. She immediately spied a small vent on one of the walls – one she apparently shared with him.

For a moment, she just stared. It was a tiny opening, almost up against the ceiling, and she had barely spoken above a whisper. There was no way he could be a human – or a vampire, judging by his response.

So what was he?

Taking a step closer to the vent, Buffy cleared her throat. "Why? They don't like food that bites back?" she asked, half-joking, half-serious, testing his response.

To her surprise, Quinn actually growled at this; a real, honest to goodness, so far from human it wasn't even funny _growl_.

"No," he bit back. "We're too valuable."

"Seeing as how I'm sitting in a cell with taser tracks still in my back, forgive me if I don't believe you," she retorted, the words coming out before she could stop them.

Quinn didn't immediately answer. In fact, Buffy had pretty much accepted the fact that she had offended him into silence when he finally spoke again.

It was in a voice so quiet, Buffy had to strain to hear him.

"Who are you?"

Her first instinct was come back with some glib, snarkily existential response. Her second was to say 'Anne'. But what actually came out of her mouth?

"Buffy."

It felt strange saying her name again, and it almost seemed to hang in the air between them.

She didn't know why she said it. 'Anne' had almost become second nature, and there were so many reasons why it wasn't a smart idea to give her real name. Except…

She needed something to hold on to. She needed to remember who she was and not who she pretended to be.

She needed to be remembered.

This time, Quinn said nothing.

* * *

A/N: I admit it, this chapter was mostly filler. But important filler.


	5. Variation

**Chapter 5: Variation**

Her second fight.

It came almost a whole week after her first one, and still, Buffy wasn't prepared for it. Then again, she seriously doubted she ever would be. But she considered _that_ a good thing.

Mostly anyway.

Buffy stared at the door in front of her, purposefully ignoring the guards behind her and their desire for her to go through it. Seriously, the only thing that kept her from resisting completely was the fact that, from what she had observed over the past week, these matches weren't always to the death, probably because they would go through fighters too quickly.

As it was, it took a growl over her shoulder – one that told her she was about two seconds away from either being tossed bodily through the door or tasered into oblivion – for her to start moving again, though not before she shot a dirty look at the guard.

Then Buffy stepped through the doorway into the arena.

Her senses immediately went into overload as she was assaulted by a crush of sights and sounds – and of course, that wonderful, ever present smell of blood and sweat.

The arena was _packed_, the crowd practically humming with excitement, rippling through the stands like muted thunder.

And once they caught sight of her? The place exploded.

She refused to react to the cheers, instead choosing to stare straight ahead, her face blank; however, when she heard Thalia introduce her as a Britlin or Chitlin or whatever the name was, she couldn't help but glance up at the vampire.

Her eyes immediately met Thalia's. The vampire had a strange look in her eye, almost as if she had a secret. And that was definitely a shadow of a smirk playing around her mouth.

That was when Buffy knew for sure – Thalia really _didn't_ care who Buffy was or where she came from. All that mattered was what the crowd believed, and by the sound of their cheers, they were pretty happy with the bill of goods they were being sold.

Disgusted, Buffy started to look away. As she did, however, a flash of white caught her eye, drawing her gaze back in Thalia's direction despite herself.

It was a guy with curly dark hair, who looked completely out of place in his very expensive, very white designer suit.

He must've been important, because the crowd immediately made way for him as soon as he came within ten feet of them. Not only that, but he was clearly heading straight for Thalia, though he kept his pace leisurely, like he had all the time in the world.

His appearance immediately brought a frown to the Thalia's face. This would've put the guy on the BFF fast track for Buffy, except that she also saw the way he was looking at _her_, like she was a shiny new toy he just had to have.

Buffy quickly looked away – just as the crowd erupted again.

Her opponent had arrived.

All thoughts of Thalia and her mystery guest left Buffy's mind as she was forced to focus on the guy carefully making his way toward her.

To her eye, there was nothing about him that jumped out at her; average height, slightly above average build that was muscular enough but nothing to write home about, a few nasty-looking cuts that were in various stages of healing, and, from the way his chest rose and fell with every breath, definitely among the living.

Still, having personal experience in the deceiving looks department, Buffy watched him warily as he approached.

He didn't make a move, though, not even when he was within reasonable striking distance. He simply started to circle around her. In fact, she kind of got the feeling that she was being stalked, or _hunted_.

Yeah, he definitely wasn't holding back because of fear. Still, she had to try.

"Is this really what you want?" she asked, gesturing to the arena. "Because I'm all for staging a sit in if you are."

He looked startled at first. Then a slow smile spread across his face, probably figuring her weak or something for offering the peace pipe.

Buffy sighed. Okay, Plan B. Knock him out as quickly and cleanly as possible.

As she tried to figure out the best way to do that, the crowd started to murmur restlessly, clearly unhappy with the lack of action.

Almost immediately, before they got too rowdy, a sword dropped into the arena, just like last time – right at the other guy's feet.

His eyes lighting up, the guy plucked the sword from the ground and within seconds, he attacked, lunging at Buffy like he was the Fourth Musketeer.

Buffy jumped to the side, easily evading the blade as it came at her.

The guy adjusted, though, and with almost catlike reflexes, he made a sweeping, slashing motion aimed directly for her neck.

Not exactly a slouch herself, Buffy dodged this attack as well, this time bending backward until her hair brushed the sand.

The blade passed harmlessly over her, leaving a slight breeze in its wake – and leaving the guy's backside completely vulnerable.

Snapping upright as soon as she was clear of the blade, Buffy delivered a fast and dirty blow to the guy's lower back – one that wasn't hard enough to do permanent damage, but one that he would definitely remember her by.

Sure enough, he staggered forward from the force, taking half a dozen steps before he found his footing again. Then he purposefully took a few more steps forward, putting himself out of arm's reach.

When he turned to face her again, he didn't look quite as sure of himself.

Buffy decided to try one more time.

"We don't have to do this," she urged. "I don't want to hurt you."

So not the right thing to say. She watched as the guy's eyes hardened.

"Don't worry, you won't," he spat back.

Then, for reasons that were beyond Buffy, he raised his arm and _threw_ the sword back into the stands.

Buffy watched as it fell harmlessly into one of the aisles. She turned back to look at the guy in disbelief – except, he wasn't a guy anymore.

Now he was a snarling, hissing jungle cat.

"Oh, crap," Buffy muttered, just as the cat attacked.

Thirty minutes later, Buffy stumbled into her cell, completely exhausted and more than a little demoralized.

She was still standing, though, and just as importantly, so was the other guy/cat. Well, he was _breathing_, anyway.

It hadn't been without its cost, though. Chokeholding a were-something or other into unconsciousness was _not_ as easy as it sounded, and she had the scratches to prove it.

Then, of course, there was the emotional toll, the anger and helplessness that roiled around inside her. But there was nothing she could do about that, so Buffy pushed her feelings down and focused on the parts she could fix.

She inhaled sharply when she finally got a good look at the gashes that scored her arms and legs.

It wasn't the cuts themselves that worried her. Most of them had already stopped bleeding, all except a particularly deep cut on her thigh; and while there was a chance for infection – and really, she didn't even want to _think_ about where those cat's claws could've been – she wasn't overly concerned about it. It would heal; they all would.

No, her big concern was about any 'side effects' the cuts would have.

"You won't turn into a werepanther just from that," Quinn stated.

Buffy jerked her head up in surprise. He hadn't talked to her since she told him her name. No one had. She had been in virtual isolation for five long days.

His voice was like a lifeline, one that Buffy took without hesitation.

"Good to know," she quickly replied. Then, deciding she had nothing to lose, she added, "Are you speaking from personal experience?"

"Not like you're talking about," was all he said, though she thought she detected a note of pride in his voice. There was a pause, then, "You're not a Britlingen, are you?"

Startled by his question, Buffy couldn't help but laugh.

"Be it? I can't even _pronounce_ it," she scoffed. When she heard him give a small, surprised snort of laughter himself, she took it for all it was worth. "What the heck is that anyway?"

Quinn went silent in his cell, but after a moment, he spoke.

"Britlingens are female warriors from another dimension," he explained. "But other than that? Not too much is known about them."

This set Buffy's mind racing. There were other people from different dimensions, which meant there had to be someone who could open the doors—

"Where _are_ you from then?"

Caught up in her own thoughts, Buffy blurted out the first thing that came to mind.

"Uh, a galaxy far, far away?" she offered.

As soon as the words left her mouth, she wished she could take them back. Sure, it was probably the best answer she could've given, all things considered. Even if it wasn't, she wasn't about to make with the insta-trust.

_But_ he was also her best – no, her _only_ – shot at making allies so far, and she didn't want to blow it, and...

She didn't want to be alone.

Thankfully, Quinn didn't seem put off by her answer in the slightest. In fact, he was laughing again, sounding more and more relaxed with every chuckle.

"You've got an answer for everything don't you, babe—"

He stopped short, catching himself mid-sentence.

It was too late, though. She heard what he had said; she couldn't have missed it if she tried.

Buffy stared at the vent incredulously. "'Babe'?" she groaned. "Please tell me that's quirky Quinn speak and _not_ what all the kids are saying these days."

"What?" Quinn demanded, though she could hear the humor in his voice. "You've never had someone call you that, wherever you're from?"

"Not if they wanted to live to tell the tale," she retorted.

When she heard him laugh at this, she grinned, and they began to talk in earnest.

For the first time in days, she felt a little spark of hope.

* * *

**A/N:** For anyone not familiar with the books, Quinn always calls Sookie 'babe'. It always stuck out to me – and not in the funny, 'that's so cute' kind of way.


	6. Niche

**Chapter 6: Niche **

Buffy lay on her cot, staring at the ceiling.

Two weeks had gone by since she had first landed in the Pits; two weeks where she never left her cell unless she was scheduled to fight.

She had to think it was a calculated move on the vamps' part; as if they thought she would go Spartacus on the place if given half the chance – which, of course, she totally would.

It also had the added bonus of making her feel like she was losing her mind.

It was almost funny, really. After all, she had run away to L.A. to shut herself off from everyone, hadn't she? Well, she got her wish and then some.

Buffy squeezed her eyes shut. It had been stupid and selfish of her to take off like that. Yes, it had felt like she was dying, having to send Angel to Hell, and she had honestly thought her mom, Giles, Willow, and Xander would be better off without her. Mostly, though, she just wanted to hide from her pain – and hide from being the Slayer, from Sunnydale, from all of it.

And now? Anyone who gave a damn about her had no idea where she was – and maybe they never would.

It was why she hadn't broached the subject of escaping to Quinn yet. She was afraid of losing the one connection, the _only_ connection, she had left. In fact, she was pretty sure their now almost daily chats were the only thing keeping her sane.

Quinn.

Buffy's eyes automatically swung up to the vent separating their cells.

A tiny voice in the back of her mind reminded her that they could be using Quinn to get information from her, or maybe to get her defenses down. Another part of her worried that, one of these times, she would find him on the opposite end of the arena, forced to fight her only friend here.

But honestly? She just couldn't bring herself to care; not when after every match, no matter how broken or bloody she was, he always there for her.

Besides, it wasn't as though they talked about anything important. Though she told him a little about her life, it was always about the non-slayage stuff, like Xander and Willow and her love of ice skating; she never, ever mentioned the words 'slayer' or 'calling' or even 'Hellmouth'.

And he pretty much did the same. Sure, he told her that he was eighteen, and that he was bald because it gave his opponents that much less to grab. He even told her what this world was like, beyond the walls of the Pits, and boy, was that eye-opening.

But he always steered the conversation away from anything remotely involving the Pits, let alone escaping – another reason why she hesitated bringing the subject up.

She couldn't put it off forever, though, no matter what, not if she wanted to get out of there.

Buffy bit her lip. She could hear him moving on the other side.

Deciding there was no time like the present, Buffy sat up and took a deep breath. Before she could so much as say his name, however, she caught the slightest movement, a flash of white, out of the corner of her eye.

Instinctively, Buffy turned to see what it was and gasped.

It was Thalia.

Buffy felt frozen in place. In fact, it seemed as though everyone within earshot stopped moving, talking, _breathing_. For good reason, too.

In the two weeks since she had arrived, Buffy had never seen Thalia down in the cell area, and she got the sense that this was the norm. Yet here she was now, in all her vampy glory, standing on the other side of the door, staring at her with a sneer on her face.

This did not bode well.

Thalia was clearly in no rush to make with the explaining, either. She just stood there staring, until a full minute passed, then another. When they passed the three minute marker without so much as a change in facial expression, Buffy finally got fed up.

"This whole bug under a microscope thing? So not working for me," she snapped, not bothering to hide her irritation.

Thalia pursed her lips together, a disdainful look on her face.

"You humans are such stupid cows," she sniffed.

Oh, that was rich. And completely out of left field.

"And you vampires aren't really big with the flattery," Buffy retorted. "But that's not why you're here, is it?"

Not too surprisingly, Thalia ignored her question and simply continued on with her oh so enlightening views.

"You fight as well as one of us, and you have more arrogance than any human has a right to, but your nature cripples you, makes you weak. It's disgusting," she said bluntly. Then she cocked her head to the side. "Maybe if you were a vampire, you would be more interesting."

Time seemed to grind to a stop, and it was all Buffy could do not to react. Is that what the purpose of this little visit was? To turn her?

She stared at the vampire, silently daring her to open the door and try, but Thalia just stood there, still as stone, with only a small smile playing around her lips.

"It's almost a pity you're too valuable just the way you are. For now, at least," she said pointedly. Then her smile grew wider as her fangs clicked out. "I do wonder, though."

Feeling a lot steadier now that she knew there were no siring plans in the immediate future, Buffy shrugged. "Yeah, I like my soul right where it is, thank you very much," she replied.

Thalia's startled laugh echoed throughout the hallway.

"Your _soul_? What does that have to do with this? Like I said, stupid cows," she scoffed, shaking her head incredulously. "Keep your soul, and from now on, I'll keep your sword, beginning tonight."

Then she was gone.

Buffy stared at the empty window, trying to process everything that had just happened – because call her crazy, but there was some major subtext going on in Thalia's speech.

For starters, it explained why she hadn't been forced yet to kill in the arena. Up until that very moment, she had just chalked it up to Thalia testing her, messing with her head to get her chuckles. It was working, too, because at the end of every match, Buffy was sure that _that_ would be the moment where it would all come to a head.

But it never was, and now she knew why – they weren't forcing her hand because they didn't have to. The crowd got their jollies watching the little blonde girl fight opponents bigger and stronger than her. That couldn't happen if Buffy wasn't _literally_ alive and kicking. It wasn't like they didn't get their fill of violence, anyway; she had the scars to prove it.

And now? By taking away her sword against wereanimals and vampires who always had their fangs and claws at the ready? It pretty much guaranteed that all of Buffy's fights were going to be very brutal and very messy.

"You don't belong here."

At the sound of Quinn's voice, Buffy gave a start. She hadn't heard him sound so serious since the first time they had talked, when he had barely said two words to her. More importantly, he had never given her an opening like this.

"No kidding. Mind telling her Holiness that?" she quipped.

Then she held her breath as she waited to hear what he would say.

The response she received was not encouraging.

"It would be… easier if you went along," he said in the same somber tone, only this time she picked up hints of pleading – and of anger.

A part of her got angry right back, resenting that he would ask that of her. A bigger part was just plain disappointed.

At the end of the day, though, neither feeling would do her much good, so Buffy tamped all her emotions down and closed her eyes, trying to think of how she could explain to him why she couldn't do it; that if she did, she would lose who she was, what made her _Buffy_; that she had already destroyed her heart when she had killed Angel, she couldn't destroy her soul, too.

In the end, however, all she could come up with was, "That's not who I am."

It didn't matter. He understood. Sounding wearier than someone his age should, Quinn sighed again.

"I know."

A moment of heavy silence passed between them. They were dancing on the edge of something important, something _dangerous_, and they both knew it.

Before Buffy could to see where it would lead, however, they both heard the sound of someone coming closer. Less than a minute later, there were two guards at her door, ready to 'escort' her to the arena.

Biting back her disappointment, Buffy stepped out into the hallway and began walking the now familiar route. As she passed by Quinn's cell, she saw those purple eyes of his looking back at her. They were filled with the same sadness she had heard in his voice moments before, along with something else she couldn't quite put her finger on.

It stayed with her as she walked through the endless corridors, even when she first stepped into the arena. The second the crowd caught sight of her, though, all thoughts left her mind, swept away by the roar of their cheers.

That was when Thalia's words hit Buffy like a sledgehammer to the stomach.

She was nothing more than a novelty act, and it was keeping her alive.

The truth had never tasted so bitter.


	7. Environment

**Chapter 7: Environment**

When Buffy saw the others file by her door, she looked away.

She knew the drill. A few times a day, they all went somewhere – to eat, shower, play a few rousing games of charades, _whatever_ – and she stayed in her cell. Each and every time.

It barely bothered her anymore, though; it barely registered at all.

The days were already bleeding into each other. This was just background noise – which was why she gave small jump of surprise when her door swung open a minute later.

At first, Buffy thought that her eyes were playing tricks on her, making her see things she wanted to see. Then four guards appeared in the doorway, tasers at the ready, and she knew it wasn't a mirage. Or if it was, it was a pretty crappy one.

"C'mon," the guard closest to her ordered, brandishing her weapon ever so slightly.

That definitely was not a hallucination.

Still, Buffy didn't move. While she really didn't want to be on the wrong end of the taser again, she wasn't about to go with them, either.

Seriously, she hadn't trusted her _eyes_ at first; there was no way she was going to trust the guards and their glaringly obvious break in routine. She was going to stay right where she was, and—

"Do you want some yard time or not?"

Hello, monkey wrench.

Buffy bit her lip as she studied the guard and considered this new bit of information.

On the one hand, she still didn't trust them. On the other hand, she had watched enough prison movies to know what 'yard time' was. It was her chance to mingle with the other prisoners, to talk to them; maybe even to see the sky.

After three weeks in her cell, it was too tantalizing an offer to refuse.

Slowly, Buffy got to her feet and walked toward the door.

Satisfied, the lead guard brusquely turned on her heel. All her senses on high alert, Buffy followed.

At first, it looked as though they were heading toward the arena. Instead of turning left, like she was used to, however, Buffy was guided to the right. This led to a whole different maze of corridors, ones that she had never seen before; ones that sloped upward, a distinct difference from the hallways to the arena.

Unfortunately, the differences stopped there. The corridors themselves were just like the ones she knew and hated; non-descript and heavily guarded.

When they finally reached large, gray double doors at the end of a particularly long hallway, Buffy was more than ready for a change in scenery. She walked through the doors as soon as the guards had them open, wanting to face whatever was on the other side head on – and putting a little space in between her and guards, just in case.

But it was unnecessary – because although calling it a 'yard' was a bit of a stretch, it definitely wasn't a trap.

It was a training room of sorts, with dozens of people inside. In fact, from the looks of it, the large room was currently filled to capacity, the ratio of fighter versus guard about 5 to 1.

Buffy smiled faintly. Now that was math she could get behind.

Still, she was reluctant to march right into the thick of it. They didn't exactly look like a friendly bunch, and Quinn, _literally_ the only person she knew in this entire world, was nowhere in sight. A not to subtle push from one of the guards told her she had to get moving, though, so she slowly began making her way around the perimeter.

And boy, was she glad she did.

Though everyone seemed to be busy, either at the punching bags or lifting weights or even sparring, they all turned their heads to stare at her as she walked past; and, as much as she would've liked to deny it, there was genuine hostility in some of their eyes.

She wasn't going to let that discourage her, though, so she just ignored all the dark looks and continued to make her way through the room, scoping the place out.

It wasn't until she passed by a rack of free weights that she stopped.

Out of the corner of her eye, she checked the hand weights out. As far as makeshift weapons went, they were pretty decent, and the smallest ones would be fairly easy to conceal.

When she was sure no one was looking, Buffy started to reach for one. As she did, however, she caught sight of something else, something even better.

There were a few quarterstaffs leaning against the wall less than twenty feet away.

Hand weights forgotten, Buffy made a beeline for the staffs.

It seemed ridiculous that _vampires_ would have weapons made out of wood lying around like that. Then again, these vamps were obviously different from the demon-embracing ones in her world. Maybe wood didn't get the deed done here. That, or maybe these vamps were just that full of themselves that they didn't think anyone would dare try anything like that.

But hey, there was only one way to find out, right?

As nonchalantly as possible, Buffy walked over to the staffs.

She hadn't gone into the room thinking that she would try to escape right then and there. Now, however, it looked like the opportunity was presenting itself, and she felt her heart race with anticipation and excitement.

Maybe it made her too eager, though, drew too much attention to her, because someone suddenly appeared on her left, just as her hand closed over the staff. At the same time, a very large hand settled over hers, stopping her from taking full possession of the quarterstaff.

Buffy whipped her head up. And up. And then up a little more, until she was looking Quinn in the eyes.

It was the first time she had really been face to face with him like this, and she was momentarily taken aback at the sight of him.

After only talking with him through their shared cell wall and catching glimpses of him every now and then, she had forgotten how young he was. Or how big. He was downright formidable the way he was looming over her with those flashing purple eyes of his.

"Buffy, don't," he warned.

Deciding to play the dumb blonde card for all it was worth, she blinked up at him in confusion. "Huh?"

Unfortunately, Quinn saw right through her.

"It's suicide," he said flatly, his hand clamping down even tighter on hers, on the verge of painful. "You'd never make it."

Instead of replying right away, Buffy tugged on the staff experimentally, testing him. She quickly discovered that Quinn was strong; really, really strong. His grip was rock solid.

Considering the fact that the guy was built like a tank, it wasn't too surprising. It still brought a scowl to her face, though, because while she knew that she could still shake him loose, it wouldn't be without causing a scene, and as it was, some of the people around them were starting to notice the something was up.

She needed to switch tactics.

"Please, Quinn," she pleaded. "You know I can't stay here. I have to try."

His eyes softened, even as he vehemently shook his head.

"No," he said firmly. "Buffy, don't breathe another word of escaping, ever again. It will only get you into trouble."

"Then help me," she said impulsively. "Help all of us. There's enough of us that we could easily overpower them. And there are weapons aplenty here. We could do it."

Buffy held her breath as she waited for him to respond. This was it, the moment. Now that the cat was out of the proverbial bag, there was no going back.

But Quinn shook his head again.

"Nobody will help, Buffy," he revealed. Then he paused, giving her the saddest look she had ever seen. "Including me."

In reality, this wasn't a total shock to Buffy. That didn't mean it didn't hurt to hear, though. A lot.

She ripped her hand away from his like she had been burned, and the staff dropped back against the wall with a muffled thud.

She decided that she would just let Quinn believe that she had given up – and then go for it again.

But Quinn wasn't done yet.

Both his hands shot out and grabbed her by the shoulders, forcing her to look him right in the eye.

"You don't understand," he growled. "I can't let you try."

Buffy felt the blood rush to her face as she grasped the full meaning of his words, saw it in the anguish on his face.

Not helping her was one thing, but actively stopping her? It was like a slap in the face.

"So you're telling me that you _want_ to be here? You like being in a cage like some _animal_?" she asked, her voice getting shrilly with every word.

Sure, it wasn't the most constructive way to go about changing his mind – or the smartest thing to say in a room of wereanimals – but she couldn't help it. For the first time since she had arrived at the Pits, she felt a deep sense of despair starting to creep in.

Buffy instantly felt everyone's eyes on her, heard the low snarls and hisses. When some of them got to their feet and started walking toward her, she braced herself, ready for a confrontation, almost happy for it.

Before anything could happen, though, she found herself being pushed behind Quinn, who was growling menacingly right back at them as the threat of violence crackled in the air.

Buffy stared at his back incredulously.

"_Now_ you want to help? Thanks but no thanks. I don't need you to _protect_ me," she said bitterly, giving his back a sharp shove.

She could practically feel Quinn's anger slam into her as he whirled around to face her.

"Well, someone has to, since you're doing a shitty job of it," he fired back.

Buffy's eyes narrowed at this, and she had to force herself not to take swing at him. As it was, she clenched her hands into fists as she stared up at him, daring him to do something.

Quinn gave as good as he got, glowering down at her, a low, continuous growl emanating from the back of his throat.

They stood like that for what seemed like forever, their faces mere inches from each other, until Quinn finally took a step back and sighed, running a frustrated hand over his head.

"Everyone has a reason for being here, for _staying_ here," he said cryptically, his eyes begging for her to understand.

But it was too little, way too late.

"Oh, yeah? What's yours?" she retorted.

Quinn looked away, which pissed her off even more.

"Fine. Do you want to know my reason then?" she exploded. "My reason is because I protect people, even if it means killing my boyfriend because he's turned evil and trying to end the world. Even if it means getting kicked out of the house by mom because she can't deal. Even if it means helping a runaway find her boyfriend and literally falling into this world in the process. That's why I'm here. Because I protect people, even if it kills me."

Buffy stopped her rant abruptly, squeezing her eyes shut and clenching her fists so tightly her nails dug into her palms, making them bleed.

It was the first time she had really been able to vent her anger about everything that had happened. While it actually felt good to get it out, it wasn't enough. It would never be enough, and she was afraid that if she didn't stop then, she never would.

The room seemed to go deathly silent for a few seconds. Then one of the guards' voices cut through the air.

"You! Britlingen! Back to your cell!"

Buffy opened her eyes. Quinn was still standing in front of her with a weird expression on his face. He looked like he wanted to say something to her but was having trouble finding the words.

She didn't care. She couldn't even look at him, so she turned away and began walking toward the doors, wanting nothing more than to leave the room.

She was vaguely aware of everyone's stares as she passed by, the way they parted for her, but it didn't really register.

Nothing did, not even when the guard told she was due to fight in the Pits that night.


	8. Competition

**Chapter 8: Competition**

Buffy was in no condition to fight.

She was still numb from everything that had happened, unable to reconcile the Quinn she had come to know to the one in the training room, let alone the entire situation.

She felt like the wind had been knocked out of her, and she had yet to get her breath back.

She was just trying to hold it together.

And yet here she was, in the Pits, watching her opponent as he stepped into the arena, listening as the crowd erupted, their cheers almost as loud as the ones she had gotten.

Buffy recognized him immediately. He was one of the first shifters on his feet when she had called Quinn out for his non-action in the training room.

He was a big bruiser of a wereanimal, well over 6 feet tall with a long reach and a mean look on his face. As soon as he spotted her, he began stalking toward her, his eyes lighting up in eagerness.

Buffy swallowed hard. If it were any other night, she would have been fine. Seriously, if she had gotten one thing out of her time in the Pits, it was how to fight every kind of shapeshifter imaginable.

But now? She was anything _but_ fine; so when her opponent came at her from the side with a series of quick jabs, something she could have dodged in her sleep, Buffy only barely managed to duck.

For some reason, this both surprised him and made him really mad. He came at her again with an onslaught of kicks and punches.

At first, Buffy held her own, blocking or parrying everything he threw at her. She quickly realized, however, that she could forget about a counter attack. His reach was incredible, making it almost impossible for her to get close enough. More importantly, she just couldn't get her head in the game; her moves were sloppy, and her timing was terrible. She needed a chance to collect herself and refocus.

Unfortunately, neither time nor a pissed off wereanimal were on her side. Her opponent kept up his assault, and with each attack, she lost a little ground, made herself that much more vulnerable.

Finally, the inevitable happened. She made a slight miscalculation, and suddenly his fist was punching its way through her guard, socking her right in the jaw.

It was a powerful hit, one that had her staggering back from the sheer force.

Buffy grimaced as the taste of copper filled her mouth. She quickly swiped the back of her hand across her face, her frown deepening when she felt it become slick with blood.

The, before she could so much as wipe her hand clean, he was lunging for her again with a vicious swipe aimed right at her legs.

This time, however, she was a little better prepared, a little more focused – but then pain had a way of doing that.

She leapt up high over his arm. At the same time, she sent a quick front jump kick right at his head.

While he couldn't avoid contact altogether, he somehow managed to reverse his momentum and pull himself back far enough so that her foot only clipped him on his chin.

She had to give the guy credit. Not only was his reach incredible, but he was really quick, something she wasn't expecting from someone so large.

Still, the blow made him stumble a little, and Buffy pressed her advantage.

As soon as her feet touched the ground, she went low, sweeping her leg out in one smooth movement, effectively taking his legs out from under him and sending him crashing to the ground. Then, as momentum brought her around again, she straightened up and aimed an axe kick down at his prone form, right at his solar plexus.

Only to have him catch her foot, inches before it could find its mark. For a brief moment, their eyes met. Then he smirked as he gave her foot a wicked twist.

Rather than have her knee dislocated, Buffy rolled into the motion, pitching her toward the ground in a wild spiral – and loosening his grip on her.

He lost his hold completely when she hit the ground a few bone-jarring seconds later.

Not wanting to give him the opportunity to attack before she could regroup, Buffy quickly rolled out of his reach and scrambled to her feet.

Her opponent did the same. Soon, they were facing each other once again.

Buffy immediately dropped into a defensive stance, because she was so not willing to underestimate his speed again.

Instead of jumping immediately into Round 2, however, Flash stepped back, purposefully putting a little space in between them. Then he simply circled around her, scrutinizing her with a mixture of disappointment and disgust on his face.

"I was looking forward to this fight, thinking maybe I could make a name for myself before I got out," he frowned, a distinct Southern twang to his voice. "Don't tell me you're nothing but hype."

When he 'got out'?

For a second, her guard dropped, and she could only stare at him as she tried to figure out what the heck he meant by that.

This only seemed to make him madder, and he attacked again. As he did, his hands transformed into giant, wolf-like paws, complete with two inch claws.

Buffy immediately shoved all her questions to the side, even though they weighed on her mind like lead. She could worry about them later – right now, she needed to figure out how to end this fight as quickly as possible.

As her opponent sped toward her, she decided that her best bet was to wait until the very last second before dodging to the side. That way, both his long reach and his speed would be neutralized, giving her some nice up close and personal time.

It was a good plan, really. Unfortunately, her life rarely went according to plan, and this was no exception.

Maybe it was because her timing was still a little off. Or maybe she had underestimated just how much extra reach his claws gave him.

It didn't matter. The end result was the same.

As he reached for her throat, his claws passed harmlessly by her face – only to tangle in her hair.

Suddenly, Buffy felt herself being jerked up off her feet as burning pain flared through her scalp. Before she could get herself loose, his other hand closed around her throat, cutting off her air and lifting even higher off the ground.

She immediately grabbed at his hands, trying to dislodge them as she struggled to breathe. His grip was like iron, though, and her struggles only made his claws sink into her flesh.

"Is this the best you got? Or do you still think you're too good for this, too good for _us_?" he growled. Then a wicked gleam entered his eye. "Or do I just have to _date_ you to get you to fight?"

He might as well have hit her with an actual blow, because the result was the same.

Buffy felt completely blindsided by his mention of Angel. It was wrong, that he would use her outburst in the training room against her like this, talking so casually, so carelessly, about one of the most painful experiences of her life; _mocking_ her with it.

Buffy stilled as she felt a quiet rage begin to boil in her.

Misreading her reaction, he looked her up and down with a leer. "I wonder what happens if I f—"

She snapped.

Before he could finish his sentence, Buffy curled her legs up underneath her and kicked out with all her might, catching him right under his armpit. At the same time, she clamped down on the fingers around her throat and pulled them back, though she made sure to keep a tight grip on them.

He howled in pain, his arm immediately going limp as it was stretched to the limit.

Buffy barely heard.

The second her feet touched the ground, she stepped into her opponent and brought his arm down across her knee in one sharp movement.

The sound of his arm breaking seemed to echo throughout the arena. Again, Buffy barely heard it – just like she didn't hear the sound of her opponent falling to the ground as she laid him out with one uppercut to the chin, or the crowd's cheers as she straddled the werewolf, her fist connecting with his face again and again and again.

All she could hear was the rush of blood in her ears as all the anger and hatred bottled up inside her finally bubbled over.

She hated the werewolf in front of her for fighting her.

She hated Thalia and the vampires in this world for existing.

She hated Quinn for not helping her.

She hated Lily for constantly putting herself in these situations.

She hated Giles for not finding her in L.A.

She hated her mom for not loving her enough.

She hated Angel for loving her.

She hated… herself, for playing along with their game for so long, for cutting and running when things got bad, for letting her grief and guilt define her.

For allowing herself to become a victim.

This last thought stopped her cold and she froze. It was almost as though a fog had finally lifted, her vision cleared – except the sight that greeted her made her recoil in horror.

Her opponent was on the ground, beaten to a bloody pulp and barely recognizable.

With a strangled gasp, Buffy jerkily got to her feet, appalled by what she had done. And when she felt his blood as it dripped down her hands onto the sandy arena…

For the longest time, she had felt like a caged animal. Now, she realized, she had finally become one.


End file.
